


Done

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [85]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buffy comes back from the Shadowmen to find a shadow in her own house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Done

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published October 3, 2005
> 
> Takes place during the events of the episode Get It Done. This is the one that hurts, people.

The wind from the vortex whipped Joyce’s hair about as she restrained the young potentials from interfering with the ritual reaching a crescendo in the middle of her living room. On the other side of the circle, Willow stood, eyes gone preternaturally dark, her hair billowing wildly as she drew energy in from the tightly controlled taps she had into Rupert and Tara. They stood steadfast, channeling the energy to her as she forced the portal wider. Spike staggered in under the weight of the demon he carried before heaving it with a ferocious roar into the flickering void. The field constricted, then swelled and burst like a fragile soap bubble, knocking everyone in the room off their feet with a silent, kinetic detonation.

Joyce lay on the floor for a moment, trying to regain her breath. By the time she finally forced herself to sit back up, Spike was already kneeling beside Buffy, who now lay in the remains of the mystical circle. Rupert and Willow were sitting on the couch where they’d been thrown. Willow had her head between her knees as Rupert gripped her shoulder and gently rubbed her back. Tara struggled to sit up on the floor next to them.

“Vi, Rona, are you girls alright?” Joyce felt duty bound to check on the young girls, but she could already tell that they were fine as they quickly got back up to their feet, helping her rise as well. The recuperative powers of youth. And speaking of youth . . .

Spike had already helped Buffy get unsteadily to her feet. Joyce took her other arm to help balance her. “Are you okay?”

Buffy nodded weakly. “Yeah, but I really just want to go to bed right now.”

“Well,” Joyce said, looking meaningfully up at the ceiling, “you may be sharing it with your sister.”

Buffy let her tired eyes drift upwards, widening when she saw the devastated ceiling leading up into Dawn’s room. “Geez, Mom. I go to another dimension for a couple of hours and you start renovating the place without me?”

“Well, you know how hard it is to get you out of the house.”

They just held each other, laughing silently.

“Come on, ladies,” Spike interrupted them at last. “Time to get the Slayer tucked up in bed.”

“Where _is_ Dawn?” Buffy asked as they started up the stairs.

Joyce looked around in surprise. Ethan had begged off, not wanting to be a distraction in Willow’s first major working, but her younger daughter had been there when they’d started, hadn’t she? But now that she thought about it, Joyce didn’t think she’d seen Dawn since Spike had appeared in the doorway dragging the demon’s corpse behind.

They had almost reached Buffy’s room when Joyce heard a soft sound come from the other end of the hall. She hesitated, then, letting Spike assume Buffy’s care, turned and followed the sound.

The noise came again, a muffled sigh somewhere between pain and pleasure, coming from behind the door to Joyce’s bedroom. Stopping in front of it, she reached out and carefully pushed it open.

Dawn lay crosswise on the bed, her arms extended up over her head and her long hair splayed about. Her face was slack and relaxed, her eyes closed and her mouth shaped in a soft half moon. The bottom of her blue baby doll shirt was pushed up around her shoulders to reveal the floral cotton of her bra, which hid all but the softest swell of her cleavage. Her jeans had been opened and pulled down over her thighs, exposing the small triangle of the matching panties and the thin white elastic bands holding it up.

Standing in front of her was Ethan.

Joyce couldn’t help gasping at the sight. He turned to face her, his expression composed save for the wide, horrifying blackness of his eyes. His shirt hung open to reveal the sculpture of his chest, and he had drawn his cock out through his undone fly, his hand pulling at it with a slow, almost tender grip. “Hello, Joyce.”

There was no way this could be what she thought she was seeing. She trusted him, he wouldn’t. . .“What in God’s name are you doing, Ethan?” She forced the words out through teeth locked tight to try to hold back the wave of nausea twisting her gut. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions. She had been wrong before. But she couldn’t imagine any innocent explanation for this.

“Isn’t that obvious?” He drifted elegantly long fingers through the air above Dawn and the girl whined softly, a sound that might have been suffering or ecstasy. His power-black eyes never left Joyce’s face. “I’m collecting payment for services rendered.”

“We never offered you this!”

“Of course you didn’t.” His voice remained silky even as it became condescending. “This isn’t the coin you people trade in. You use devotion, affection. The First Evil has a more practical stock in trade. I was offered real power, Joyce, on a scale you can’t even comprehend. All for choosing the winning side in the upcoming battle. I would have been a fool not to accept. All the tender young flesh coming into this house for my taking was just a lovely extra.”

The implied threat in his words spurred her to action. “You can’t have Dawn,” Joyce swore, sidling into the room to pull her daughter’s limp, entranced body off the bed, dragging her to her feet and covering her as best she could as she put herself between them.

He just smiled seductively, tucking himself casually into his pants. “That’s quite alright. I’ve had enough for now. Being around her all these years, I’d always wondered what she would taste like, what all that mystical energy that had created her would do to her essence. There was no reason to hold back anymore, so . . .” He took a half step closer, reaching out to caress a lock of Joyce’s hair in the familiar gesture, slipping it behind her ear. “She tastes like you, Joyce,” his voice dropped into honey thick eroticism. “Rich and vibrant. Except of course she’s younger and so much fresher and sweeter. And she was almost as eager to give it to me as you were. Given the right incentive.”

Joyce flinched away from his touch with a whimper, physical pain flaring through her at his words and the cruel mockery of his actions.

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice came from the hall behind her. “What’s going . . .” Joyce felt her freeze, taking in the scene. “Oh god, no. Not now. Please, not right now.”

Ethan began to nonchalantly button his shirt. “I’m sorry if the timing isn’t good for you, Slayer.” He sounded bored. “Would you like to reschedule? I certainly wouldn’t mind remaining in this house with all these delicacies around. Young Chloe was particularly delicious.”

Buffy’s tone dropped ominously. “You did that?”

He shrugged negligently. “That is what the First hired me for. Why should It bother to pick you off when I’m right here? We had such lovely conversations, Chloe and I, about how small you all were, how insignificant she was, how little she could contribute to the final struggle, until finally it only made sense for her to end her own life.”

More people had gathered in the hall, hearing all that was going on. Joyce was barely aware of them, every word driving her into a fugue of denial. “How could you do this?” she whispered, barely audible above the pounding of her heart. “You said you loved me.”

He tsked, shaking his head sadly. “My dear, you should know better. I’ve always been a selfish creature, and I’ll say whatever it takes to get what I want. For a while, I wanted you.”

“And now?”

He just looked at her, his black eyes pitying.

A deep animal voice growled from behind her. “I should have bloody well killed you when I had the chance!”

Rupert shoved her and Dawn aside, charging through the door to catch Ethan around the throat and slam him up against the wall. Joyce had to catch Dawn, the soporific effect of Ethan’s spell still making the girl unsteady on her feet. She held her daughter protectively, watching in numb satisfaction as Rupert began throttling Ethan.

Rather than struggle against Rupert in a losing battle, Ethan brought his hands together and then jerked them fiercely apart. The force of the spell blew Rupert across the room to crash into the armoire, glass from the mirror shattering to rain all about him.

“It’s been lovely,” Ethan said with mocking gentility as he backed slowly towards the open doorway into Dawn’s room, “but I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome. Be seeing you.” And keeping his body straight, he dropped down through the gaping hole in the floor into the living room.

“Don’t let him get away!” Rupert cried, trying to struggle to his feet.

But Buffy was already charging after him, diving headfirst through the void to disappear below. They heard screams from the girls still downstairs, and then a shattering of glass as the front window met another violent end. Joyce couldn’t bring herself to care.

She felt someone lead Dawn away, heard soft voices try to speak to her. But she couldn’t understand the words, could only feel the agony welling up inside of her. She relived every gentle caress, every whispered endearment, years of passion and affection and intimacy slowly made meaningless as the reality of what he had done sunk in. He had betrayed them, without any compunction or remorse. This wasn’t like last year, wasn’t a misunderstanding on her part, an error in judgment on his. He had violated Dawn, here in the bed they had shared so many times, and he had killed Chloe, as surely as if he had tied the rope around her neck himself.

Collapsing to her knees, she began retching, her stomach unable to retain its contents any longer. She couldn’t stop, her muscles heaving, her throat burning as the bile rose up out of her. Suddenly gentle hands were there, gathering up her hair, stroking her back. “I’m sorry,” Rupert’s soft baritone crooned brokenly. “I’m so sorry. I knew what he was, what he was capable of. I never should have let him near you. I never should have trusted that he’d changed.”

Vomiting turned to hysterical weeping, wrenching, brutal screams of anguish that did nothing to assuage her loss. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest so she could hear him choking back his own fury. But she had no comfort for him, lost in her own pain and guilt and devastation. There was no comfort for either of them. They were as much at fault as Ethan was, had trusted him, had brought him into her home. Joyce could never forgive herself for that, for being so foolishly naïve. Ethan had warned her, as had Rupert over and over, that he wasn’t to be trusted, that he would turn on them all given the proper incentive. She had been foolish to think she could have truly made any difference to him.

Buffy returned, silent and unsuccessful. “I’m sorry,” she said in muted voice. She didn’t need to explain for what. He had gotten away from her. She had been too weak from her ordeal to stop him. Silently, she cleaned up the mess on the rug and helped Rupert lift Joyce into the bed, slipping off her shoes but otherwise leaving her dressed. “Will you stay?” Joyce heard Buffy ask Rupert quietly.

He must have nodded in the affirmative. “I’ll sleep in the chair here in case she needs me.”

“Giles, I . . . I’m really sorry.” The guilt in Buffy’s voice couldn’t penetrate the deadened shell of Joyce’s desolation.

“It’s not your fault, Buffy. Perhaps I should have listened to you in the first place.”

Buffy made a sound as though she wanted to add something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, Joyce felt her daughter’s lips soft on her cheek. “Good night, Mom. Both of you get some sleep.” She closed the door behind her.

Joyce lay in the darkness, eyes staring blindly at the far wall. Rupert’s breathing slowed, but never slipped into the familiar half snore of sleep. She lay there motionless, never closing her eyes as the pain of treachery shred her from the inside out, Ethan’s scent filtering up to her from the pillow to mock her with memories now ashes in her mouth.


End file.
